


Intuition

by EmRosie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter RPF
Genre: Community: drarrython, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Fluff, Drarry, Drarrython, Endgame Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Eventual Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, First Kiss, Good Draco Malfoy, M/M, One Shot, One Word Prompt Meme, POV Harry, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 01:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8125324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmRosie/pseuds/EmRosie
Summary: Intuition; a phenomenon of the mind, describes the ability to acquire knowledge without inference or the use of reason.After the war, Harry begins to hate the word "intuition". That is, until, he learns to follow it himself...





	

Intuition; a phenomenon of the mind, describes the ability to acquire knowledge without inference or the use of reason.

After the war, the name Voldemort had begun to lose its power. No longer did rooms silence, no longer did spines shiver, no longer did witches and wizards quiver in fear. It had been slowly replaced by wrinkled noses, as if the word gave of a particularly bad smell, but was no more threatening. Then, even slower still, it became the punch line of many jokes. 

Harry had once left a pub where he had been greeted with the words  
“So Voldemort walks into a bar…”

 

Although Harry was grateful for the new found happiness and peace in the wizarding world, he privately questioned the naivety of its occupants. Of course, he had always used his name and had always agreed with Hermione’s statement that ‘fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself’. But for most, fear of the name had been equal to the fear of the person; now, with the fear of the name diminishing, so was fear of the man behind it. Of course, people no longer had reason to fear Voldemort; no-one could survive a killing curse, even one of their own rebounded. One man, however, didn’t make a war. There were still things to fear, but without a face to put to them, people seemed to believe that ignorance was bliss.

Harry may have made more of a fuss about the events, if he hadn’t had a new word to fear himself.

Intuition. 

It was the word that Kingsley had used five years ago, the first year after the war, when he had refused Harry’s application to the Auror training programme. Of course he hadn’t outright refused; publicly he had told the wizarding world that their Saviour deserved a year of rest before taking the front line again, privately he had told Harry he believed the job wasn’t for him.

“Believe me, Harry, I am asking you to wait a year, to reconsider, for your own good.” Kingsley had said, looking at Harry over the large oak desk of his Ministry office with a sad, searching look. “You’ve spent so long fighting dark magic that you don’t know anything else. You don’t know what you really want. I don’t think this is for you.”

“How do you know?” Harry had demanded angrily; he recalled it took all of his self-control not to bang his fists against the desk – Kingsley was the Minister, after all.

“Just call it intuition…” Kingsley had said, dismissing Harry with little else.

It was a word Harry had heard again just a year later, the second year after the war. He and Ginny had tried again. Harry had tried to convince himself that they were happy; they had gone through the motions of a couple in love, clinging to what had been before the war. It was the night of Ron and Hermione’s wedding, four years ago, that Ginny had ended their relationship.

“It’s not either of us, Harry, we just don’t work together. Not anymore.” Ginny had replied tearfully after Harry had angrily demanded that Ginny told him what he had done wrong. “I’ve tried, we’ve both tried. It just isn’t the same.”

“We can try harder, Gin, please…” Harry had begged, although he knew in his heart Ginny was right.

“We can’t, Harry.” She had said, shaking her head with a sad yet somehow, deeply thoughtful, look on her face. “I’m not right for you… I won’t ever be right for you.”

“How do you know that?” Harry had pleaded, desperate to know. If Ginny knew that she wasn’t right, maybe she knew what she was missing, what Harry needed? 

“I don’t know…” She had whispered, shaking her head again. “Just call it intuition…” She had whispered and with a long, final look, turned and disappeared into the green flames of the floo.

She never returned.

Harry had, of course, continued to visit the Weasleys. Molly was true to her word that Harry was like a son to her, and slowly, the frost between Harry and Ginny thawed. After another year, Harry considered her a friend. The third year after the war, in his embracing of muggle traditions, Author Weasley had insisted on a New Year’s Eve party. Harry, admittedly, had always been surprised that it wasn’t celebrated as significantly in the wizarding world. He had gone to The Burrow and been heavily laden with a pleasant mixture of food and alcohol that made his stomach warm and his head pleasantly fuzzy. It had been nice; the entire Weasley family had been there along with many friends. Even Charlie had returned from Romania that Christmas and had stayed longer for the celebrations. 

Harry soon found that this third year after the war would be the one that his new found word, whilst still scary, wouldn’t fill him with the same dread it had before.

The party had been sitting outside in the cold night air, watching the final embers of a large bonfire turn to ash. The conversation had been animated; slowly dropping as each member gave their excuses and retired to bed. Soon, only Harry and Charlie had remained. The conversation – as well as the Firewhiskey – still flowed. 

“Have you had a girlfriend since Gin?” Charlie had asked him, so bluntly Harry had been taken aback.

“Well – I –“ Harry had stuttered, for the first time really realising that no, he hadn’t. He also realised that he hadn’t been that interested in finding one either. “…No.”

An odd look had flickered through Charlie’s eyes before he had leaned forward, pressing his lips to Harry’s. For a moment, Harry had been numb with shock, but as Charlie’s lips had persisted he had succumbed to their will, his ice cold lips moving against Charlie’s warm ones. Harry remembered that he had vaguely cursed himself for forgetting the heating charm that Charlie so clearly hadn’t. More clearly, however, Harry remembered how shock had slowly given way to desire. Every nerve in Harry’s body had stood on end as Charlie’s tongue slid out to request entrance to Harry’s mouth and how it had felt like fireworks exploding when Harry accepted and their tongues moved together. The kiss had sent a shiver right from the tip of his spine to his toes; he had never felt anything like it.

As they broke apart, Harry realised for the first time why he had never been interested in replacing Ginny. At least not with another girlfriend.

“How…” Harry breathed, his question of ‘did you know’ claimed by silence as he blinked, taking in Charlie’s smiling face.

“Some wizards, purebloods especially, won’t like it – they see relationships as contracts to secure the continuation of magical blood. You’ll no doubt find out if you’re not careful, expect some more headlines in the Prophet, but I’m sure you’re used to those.” Charlie had chuckled, not answering Harry’s question. “But, my family have me, so they will accept you. Something tells me Ginny already knew.”

“But how…” Harry had whispered again, persisting with his question; he needed to know, how had Charlie – and apparently Ginny – worked out something so intimate that, until a few moments ago, Harry hadn’t even known himself?

“Just call it intuition.” Charlie had smiled, tipping his glass toward Harry before he drained the last of his Firewhiskey and rose to his feet. 

When Harry awoke the next morning, Charlie had already returned to Romania. 

Just one year ago, the fourth year after the war, Harry had still been unhappy. He wasn’t miserable; he had supportive family and friends, had tried a few relationships and was god father to some beautiful children. Charlie, it turned out, had been right about everything. Harry had gone out to experiment, finding a muggle gay bar where he knew he wouldn’t be recognised and – although he went no further than kissing (and a few sly gropes in darkened corners) – soon found out that Charlie’s (and therefore, Ginny’s) intuition hadn’t been far wrong. Charlie had been right about the reactions too – the Weasley’s, his friends – they had all been accepting and supportive. Some of the wizarding world, however, hadn’t been. He had been mocked and scorned by many at first, but thankfully, the reaction had died down. 

Harry’s career, however, was still a sore spot. After Kinglsey had refused his application, Harry had been forced to agree that, indeed, Kingsley’s intuition had been right and that life as an Auror wasn’t for Harry. But, unfortunately, Harry couldn’t find anything that was. He had flitted from job to job, thankful for the mountain of gold in his vault at Gringott’s which meant that Harry could always keep his flat warm and his stomach full. Of course Harry always wanted to work and he did; but he’d soon become bored and find something new. 

One day, Harry had gone straight to the Burrow from a particularly dull shift pushing paper around his desk at the Ministry, to find Bill visiting. Harry, busying himself opening a butterbeer, had only been half-listening to Bill’s rant in which he was be berating the complete lack of skills of his latest trainee curse breaker. 

“Why don’t you give it a try, Harry?” Bill had asked, suddenly pulling Harry to attention.

“What?” 

“Curse breaking. Why don’t you give it a try? You’ve been through enough jobs already.” Bill had laughed, his eyes flickering over the markings on Harry’s black ministry robes. “What department is it your in now?”

“Representative at the centuar liaison office.” Harry had replied, the dull attitude he had toward his job evident in his tone.

“Sounds thrilling,” Bill had mocked, grinning widely. “So really, why not give curse breaking a go? It’s not like you’ve got a lot to lose.”

“What makes you think I’d be any good at curse breaking?” Harry had asked.

“Just call it intuition.” Bill had replied, wearing a smile very similar to the one Charlie had when he had said those same words.

Harry took the job. Really, Bill was right, what did he have to lose?

It had turned out, that like so many others, Bill’s intuition had been exactly right. From the start Harry had loved his job. It was everything he had thought he would enjoy about being an Auror; using his brain to solve a problem, testing the laws of magic fighting through barriers and hunting down dangerous artefacts, all without the overhanging shadow of ‘what if a crazy dark wizard decides to kill me, just because I’m Harry Potter?’

The biggest surprise of Harry’s job had been a particular blonde haired, pale faced - although, no longer so pointy – wizard.

Draco Malfoy.

After saving Draco from the flames in the Room of Requirement and, after Malfoy’s mother’s subsequent saving of Harry’s life, Harry had felt compelled to speak out on their behalf as the Ministry began making its way through the trials of all known Death Eaters. Harry had explained how he believed Malfoy had only been young, how he believed he had been forced to commit many of the acts he had. Harry had recalled, to a captivated Wizengamot, the night at the Manor where Malfoy had refused to identify Harry, in turn saving his life. Harry had also recalled how he had saved Malfoy’s life in return during the Battle of Hogwarts.

“As you may know, I’m in the business of killing dark wizards, not saving them.” Harry had concluded. 

McGonagall had also brought a message from Dumbledore’s portrait which recalled the events preceding his death; it explained how Malfoy had been under duress to kill Dumbledore, how Dumbledore had offered him refuge and how Dumbledore had been close to death anyway.

Finally, Harry had told a completely silent audience how Narcissa had saved Harry’s life in the Forbidden Forrest, directly defying Voldemort in an action which meant Harry had, ultimately, been able to destroy him.

Fortunately, Harry had been able to save Malfoy and Narcissa from Azkaban. Unfortunately, it had the unintended effect of giving Lucius Malfoy had his highly expensive lawyers a lot of information they could use in various twisted ways to make it look as if the entire Malfoy family were innocent. 

After that, Harry had given little thought to any of the Malfoy’s. Of course, he saw Lucius more often than not, as he tried desperately to climb the ladder of wizarding society once again. He was often at at many events Harry was forced to attend, throwing around money to any cause which was fashionable. What Harry had noticed was how Malfoy was, and remained, absent from his father’s crawl back to the top.

Harry’s job as a curse breaker had soon provided him with the reason why. Draco Malfoy, it appeared, had managed to make quite a name for himself; a very positive name. His knowledge of dark and cursed artefacts was vast and he was often called upon to consult on many objects that the curse breakers came across. Bill had explained that it had all begun when they had seized a cursed Vanishing Cabinet very similar to the one Malfoy had infamous fixed in his sixth year. At the time Malfoy had still been under Ministry probation so was unable to decline the request to inspect the object for the curse breakers. On that task he had worked under full supervision, with his probation officer and Bill (as lead curse breaker) watching each moment. Bill had been pleasantly surprised by Malfoy’s knowledge and how he succeeded where many curse breakers – even Bill himself – had failed. At Bill’s request, and under his probation, Malfoy had consulted on a few more cursed objects, each time his knowledge providing access to loopholes in the magic or weaknesses in the enchantments that none of the other curse breakers had noticed. 

Of course, Malfoy didn’t officially work as a curse breaker; an ex-Death Eater – acquitted, yes, but still marked – was not high on the list of people that were hired to work ridding artefacts and dwellings of Dark Magic. However, once free of his probation, Bill had asked if he would consider taking a position as a consultant, offering advice on any problematic artefacts. Malfoy had accepted and had proven himself worthy of every Galleon given. 

The first time Harry had taken an object to Malfoy had filled him with a strange feeling that Harry hadn’t been able to place; natural, he supposed, for someone he once hated yet whose life he had saved in more ways than one. When Malfoy had opened the door to his home – not the Manor, where his mother and father still resided, but an smaller, yet still extravagant house built on unplottable land – a moment had passed the pair that crackled the air with its tension.

“Potter, come in.” Malfoy had greeted with a swift nod, stepping back to allow Harry inside. Once inside, Harry had taken in his surroundings carefully; dark, polished wood floors with dark green hangings adorning the walls. The office Harry was led to was large and lined with shelves of objects of all kinds, many that Harry had never seen before. Harry had been drawn to one, a large, softly shimmering orb which hovered a few inches above the shelf which seemed to hum with the force of it’s magic. Harry had been about to reach out when –

“Don’t touch, Potter.” Malfoy had warned, inches behind him. Harry had snatched his hand away, ears burning. “They aren’t dangerous; these are some of the objects that I’ve cleansed. I like to collect, too.”

Harry had found the burning of his ears didn’t die down; firstly, he had been embarrassed that he’d almost reached out and touched an unknown magical artefact – rule number one of curse breaking, never touch an object you don’t know. Then, with Malfoy’s following words, he quickly became embarrassed further, as if feeling guilty for his first thought, that Malfoy may be storing dangerous objects. 

“Call me Harry.” Harry had said. He hadn’t known why, really it had been an instant reflex – no one had called him Potter in years, having Bill as a boss meant such formalities had fallen away. Thankfully, it had taken away from Harry’s embarrassment at his lapse with the orb as Malfoy had begun to look uncomfortable. “Fear of a name only increases the fear of the thing itself.” Harry had quoted jokingly and, to his relief, Malfoy had smiled. 

After that, the visits to Malfoy’s house with various cursed artefacts had been much easier. Harry had found himself looking forward to them; he almost learnt more from Malfoy than he did from Bill, although he would never admit that to his boss. 

One evening, after they had rid a particularly nasty Flagrante curse from an old witch’s jewellery box, Harry had found himself sighing “I think I need a drink after that!” Harry wasn’t sure if he’d meant it as an invitation or not, but that was how it had sounded. Draco, as he had become, stared at Harry for a long moment, before Harry threw caution to the wind and asked “do you want to join me?”

After that, they had become friends. It had seemed strange, being friends with Malfoy, but Harry had been glad to see that he had been right to save Malfoy; from the flames, from Azkaban, from a life of Dark Magic. He hadn’t changed entirely – he still berated muggles and he was still far too arrogant for his own good – but he was different; he wasn’t a cold hearted git and, to Harry’s surprise, he could actually be quite funny.

Yesterday, five years after the end of the war exactly, Harry had taken a gold gilt hand mirror to Draco’s house, heavily concealed in a thick black bag. 

“Didn’t expect you today…” Draco had said as he opened the door. Harry knew he was referring to the many commemorative events which were taking place to remember the fifth anniversary of the war. Truth be told, Harry had been expected to attend many of them, but had begged Bill for a job so he could escape. Thankfully, Bill had agreed and Harry had found himself landed with a particularly nasty object. He had gone to Draco’s as he knew he was the best, but for the first time, had hoped he wouldn’t find him at home.

“Didn’t fancy it, I didn’t know if you’d be here either.” Harry had said, wishing the last part were true. Instead, Draco invited him inside, taking Harry to the now familiar office. 

“What is it today then?” Draco had asked with a smile, twirling his wand between his fingertips. Harry had shifted uncomfortably, taking the object from his pocket, although it was still heavily covered. Draco hadn’t asked anymore, but raised his eyebrow, silently questioning Harry.

“It’s a hand mirror. It’s… It’s not always there, but it’s got this eye… When it’s there, if you look it in the eye, you…” Harry had paused, looking down at the bag in his hands, at the floor, at the wall behind Draco’s head – anywhere but at him. 

“Yes?” Draco had prompted.

“When you look it in the eye, it… It’s cursed with Sectumsempra.” Harry had told him in barely more than a whisper. Draco’s eyebrow had dropped, his whole face fell slack with the memory which had assaulted Harry when he had first been informed of the objects curse.

“Oh.” Was all Draco had said and his arm had reached up subconsciously, rubbing across his chest. 

“Yeah…” Harry had replied, swallowing the shame he felt at Draco’s action. 

The pair had then worked in silence, carefully working with the mirror face down, turning it over only when Draco deemed it absolutely necessary. After what had felt like hours – and when he looked at the clock, Harry saw it was – Draco had broken the silence and announced the object was cleansed.

“Are you sure?” Harry had asked, nervously chewing at his bottom lip.

“There’s only one way to find out.” Draco had said, his long, pale fingers reaching out toward the mirrors handle.

“No!” Harry had burst out, causing a flash of confusion to light Draco’s face.

“I’ve already cursed you with that once. That was enough for me.” Harry had mumbled awkwardly, looking down as the tips of his ears reddened again – but not before he saw something that Harry thought had been warmth flash through Draco’s eyes.

With a shaking hand, Harry had turned the mirror over. He had lifted it, making sure the object was right on line with his face. He had waited, holding his breath, as the eye slid into view. Harry had forced himself not to instinctively close his eyes but to stare ahead, meeting the mirrors gaze. 

After a few seconds had passed, Harry had breathed a long sigh of relief.

“It’s worked.” He had announced, somewhat unnecessarily, offering the mirror to Draco.

“I don’t think I’ll collect that one, thanks.” Draco had replied, giving the mirror an almost painful glance.

Harry had nodded, tucking the mirror back into his pocket to return to Bill. 

“Well, the pubs will no doubt be full of drunken idiots celebrating Voldemort’s downfall.” Draco had stated as he looked at the clock “but I definitely need a drink after that one.”

“So do I” Harry had agreed, although he had no desire to visit their local and be greeted by scores of witches and wizards begging to shake his hand caught up in the emotions of the day.

“I’ve got a drink cabinet, only the finest.” Draco had offered, leading Harry from the office and into the living room. Harry had taken in his new surroundings eagerly; even after being friends with Draco for almost a year, he had never seen any other part of his home than the hall and his office. It was a stark contrast to the dark wood and green of the hall and his office; the walls were painted a light, airy cream and the hangings were a deep, glittering navy. A fireplace centred the room, its light casting warmth onto two plush velvet sofas. If Draco had noticed Harry’s staring, he hadn’t commented, and was busy rooting around in a high, grand looking cabinet against the wall.

“I don’t suppose you have a preference in wine?” Malfoy had asked, drawing Harry from his thoughts.

“Er… No?” Harry had replied, very much aware that it came out like a question. “Unless you count never drinking it as a preference?”

Draco had turned with a bottle and two glasses in hand, allowing Harry to see the way he – very over exaggeratedly – rolled his eyes. 

“You’re in dire need of decent wizarding education.” Malfoy had informed him, taking a seat in one of the sofas and placing the glasses on the table before him. Harry noted how Malfoy placed the glasses both on one side, inviting Harry to sit beside him rather than opposite. Harry had done so, eyeing the bottle that Draco uncorked. “It’s the finest elf made wine money can buy.”

Harry had admitted that, yes, the wine was rather good, and the pair drank together until almost all the bottle was gone. Their conversation had flitted around trivial matters; work, a new potions store opening in Diagon Alley, quidditch scores. All the while something hung in the air between them, filling the room with tension. 

“Some idiots on the wireless were forecasting snow today – in May! - saying it would be white and pure like the new wizarding world, or some equally idiotic drivel.” Malfoy had said, making Harry painfully aware that they had clearly run out of light topics and were now talking about the bloody weather, of all things.

“Draco..” Harry had said, feeling a need to take the hippogriff by the horns.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry. About sixth year, about the septumsempra curse... I never knew – I never meant…” Harry trailed off in a fluster, suddenly very interested in his empty glass.

“I think you’ve more than made up for that.” Draco had replied and Harry had looked up to see him staring, quite intently, straight at Harry. Harry’s eyes found his and searched them; Draco was normally so well guarded, his eyes cool and grey and devoid of emotion. But earlier, Harry had thought he saw warmth… and here, now beside the fire, he did again. He had took in the way Draco’s platinum hair seemed to reflect the firelight, the way it illuminated his pale face. He had noticed, of course, when he first saw Draco that he was no longer as pointy as he had been in his school days. His jaw was fuller, more defined, very… Handsome. 

How long had Draco been handsome? If Harry was telling himself the truth, he had thought Draco handsome for some time. 

Harry had dropped his gaze to Draco’s lips, taking in the way they looked – stained a little darker than usual, thanks to the deep red of the elf wine, yet looking utterly kissable. Harry hadsteeled all of his Gryffindor courage and leant forward.

He had intended the lean to be casual, somewhat alluring, but had failed miserably. It was an awkward, jerking movement which almost knocked Draco backward. Harry’s heart had almost stopped in the moment he felt Draco’s lips cold and unresponsive under his. He had been about to pull away when Draco pushed back, meeting the force of Harry’s kiss.

Harry had instantly illuminated with joy; if kissing Charlie, and the other men after, had felt like fireworks, than Harry had no words for what this was. Those before paled in comparison to the way Draco’s mouth felt against his. Desire flew through Harry like nothing else and he instantly begged to deepen the kiss, his tongue flickering out against Draco’s lips, tasting the wine on them. Draco had allowed and their tongues had wound together. Harry had dropped his glass, his hands finding their way around Draco’s body and, in return, Draco’s hands dove into Harry’s hair. They clung together, exchanging kisses and allowing soft moans of desire to escape their lips. 

Eventually, they had parted, both panting heavily. Harry’s eyes opened to find Malfoy staring back at him, his eyes dark grey with unmistakable desire.

“How…” Malfoy had breathed, not unlike Harry had when Charlie had kissed him.

“Just call it intuition.” Harry had said; and he smiled.


End file.
